


Peaches and Punchlines

by TastesLikeCream



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, BAMF Charles, Charles-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, M/M, Seriously - This Hurts, misleading title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastesLikeCream/pseuds/TastesLikeCream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles sucks the last bits of peach juice from his fingers, mouth twisting at the lingering stickiness. </p><p>“We’re the beginning of a terrible joke,” he whispers between snores and rustling of blankets. “A telepath, a feral and magnetism manipulator lead a ragtag band of mutants towards the end of the world.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaches and Punchlines

**Author's Note:**

> This stops following First Class canon right after Charles graduation. The plot of the Wolverine Origins movie is not really touched upon here except for Logan having the bone claws, though even that isn't really touched upon. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for mistakes - I love one a.m. editing :3 
> 
> Inspired by the song 'Flares' by The Script.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am not profiting off this - it was written purely for entertainment.

Charles sucks the last bits of peach juice from his fingers, mouth twisting at the lingering stickiness. 

“We’re the beginning of a terrible joke,” he whispers between snores and rustling of blankets. “A telepath, a feral and magnetism manipulator lead a ragtag band of mutants towards the end of the world.” 

Logan sucks on the peach pit because cigars are harder and harder to come by now; pieces of the skin clinging to his chin and mouth. Erik fiddles halfheartedly with a coin, though his face is open as he closes his fist around it. 

“Do any of us live in the punchline?” 

Their faces close off and he hears the distinct thunk of a peach pit being spit against a tree trunk.

“I haven’t gotten to that part yet.” 

-

All the experimentation bases are dingy and gray; Raven is a brilliant streak of blue as she slides across the scuffed linoleum. She fights with ease and grace, a gift earned from years of living within the Xavier household. Charles grimaces at the crunching of bone and steps over puddles of blood. 

“Remember our rules, Raven, we do not kill the innocent guards. Leave those with families.” 

Charles pretends not to see her eye roll as the guard slumps over with his memory freshly wiped. 

“Do you remember my rule?” The keys dig into the palm of his hand. “No dying.” 

The rooms are startlingly silent without screaming or bodies slamming against the wall. A scan of minds finds most gone from starvation, dehydration or sickness picked up in the close quarters. Erik gives a resigned smirk at the sight of him - used to both escape and rescue attempts. 

“Would you like to leave?” Charles asks, already sifting through the keys, “We’ll take that inhibitor collar from you, of course.” 

Raven hovers at the edges of the room, speckled with blood and shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Did you really kill the guards then?” Erik asks, voice rough as he follows her shaky movement. “We have to bring my cellmate.” 

The feeling of fresh air on their skin burns deep into the marrow of their bones. It feels almost as good as leaving. 

“By the way,” he says, “My name is Charles Xavier.”

-

Charles stays out of their minds but knows their initial reasons for staying is food and shelter along with a skittish respect. The world is restless and strange and Charles provides a small gleam of hope in the form of stable food and beds. Raven provides long and easy chatter over the long silences as she recounts all they’ve missed. 

Erik watches them cover the walls of their motel rooms with maps, notes, and thumbtacks. Most of the maps and notes are damaged either by coffee or some form of water, and he listens to the thin scratching of the pen as Raven scribbles something down. 

“Are you building an army?” 

“I’m not fit to command an army, my friend, let alone build one.” Charles crouches, digging through one of the many plastic bags on the floor until he comes up with a green apple and salt. 

“What are you doing then, bub?” Logan asks, watching as he pours a generous amount of salt onto his palm. Charles rolls the apple around his palm, face thoughtful as he takes a bite. 

“I steal food, though I’ve never known true hunger. I put motel staff to sleep for days on end then destroy any traces of our existence in the room. I rescue the ones I find in time and mourn the lost ones.” 

Charles extends his hands in a silent offer, smiling easily as both men eye the salt spread across his hand. 

“You’ll like it.” 

He knows better than to make promises.

-

Time leads skittish respect to mellow into friendship. The world stays restless, though digging through minds makes navigating unexpected changes easier. Parks and seedy bars become a favorite place to poke around minds for information. 

Other mutants show up along the way. Most of them go running at the word freedom while others stay long enough for some stability and thanks. The arrival of Emma Frost and Irene Adler makes locating and rescuing easier. Still, he leaves the destruction up to the others. 

Erik watches the flames of the building lick higher and higher, wiggling his fingers in a silent goodbye to the quickly departing mutant. Logan stands beside him, watching the thick smoke highlight the sky black. 

“How do your ears feel?” Erik asks, still watching the fire, “You better get used to the sound, Charles invited him to join us.”

“I didn’t expect the kid to rattle every bone,” he grumbles, rubbing at his ears, “Did you find him?” 

“No.” Erik mashes his lips together. “The researchers marked out all the names in the files anyways.” 

Logan squeezes his shoulder and leaves him to watch the building creak and crack into a pile of charred rubble. 

-

Erik carries himself with a poise and stillness crafted from fighting tooth and nail just to lose anyway. Charles hovers on the edges, rolling his apple and watching him, smile curving as he offers the fruit. 

“What possessed you to form an army of mutants?” Erik asks, plucking the fruit from his hand. Charles gives him an exasperated look, still against the suggestion of this being anything close to any army. 

“College students fresh off graduation with alcohol in their hands are hardly capable of controlling their projections. I heard thoughts of research facilities, inhibitor collars, experimentation and cash for those willing to hand over mutants. I feigned a contagious illness to keep visitors away from our apartment, accessed my family fortune and left with Raven.”

“How did you find us?” 

“We mostly looked through bars.” Charles shrugs. “The drunken mind is willing to share more than a sober one, besides someone is always willing to share a few shots. Raven and I would find each other at the end of the night to share our finding then try to find coordinates.”

“You performed such a blatant abuse of powers?” Erik’s stillness crumbles around the edges as he smirks. 

“It was really more a blatant abuse of my family’s fortune.” Charles smiles, licking a stripe of salt from his hand. 

Erik grips the apple until his knuckles turn white.

-

The ground is filthy with cigarette butts and graying wads of gum. Erik sits on the curb, knees were drawn to his chest, staring up at the sky. The moon sits fat, wedged between two wispy clouds. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

Erik inhales burnt rubber and clashing colognes and perfumes of various couples disappeared into their respective rooms. Logan’s familiar musk and acrid cigar smoke settle around him like a blanket. 

“Do you believe in him? I mean, how long can we keep running and rescuing and running?” 

“What else do I have to believe in? Everyone I once knew is dead.” 

“If everyone we knew is dead - what do we have to look forward to?” Erik watches the clouds shift to cover the moon. 

“We look forward to finding each other.”

-

The moon stays hidden for a week despite Erik’s best efforts at searching for it. Charles settles beside him on the hood of the newest recruits taxi cab and drops a peach into his lap. Logan sits on the curb tonight, sucking on the remains of a peach pit and scanning an empty parking lot. 

“Did you finally tire of apples?” Erik asks, pretending not to hear the choke of someone nearly inhaling a peach pit. “You might turn Azazel yellow with enough time.” 

“Wouldn’t that be a groovy secondary mutation?” Charles laughs, crossing his ankles, and laying back. 

A comfortable silence settles over their area of the parking lot, broken only by the quiet chatter and televisions slipping beneath the doors. Erik rolls the peach around his hand, mindful of the velvety skin, ready for bruising with just a too tight squeeze. Logan gives a final suck of the peach pit, pulling it from his mouth and shrugging as he tosses it. 

“I had plans for another life once,” Charles says, “I wanted to become a professor of genetics and spend all day with students. My home was going to have an enormous library where I could drink and play chess.”

Erik scans the clouds for a sliver of the moon and contemplates his previous other life plans: saving mama. Each plan comes to a screeching halt there. Logan scrapes his shoe over a dried up wad of bubblegum and ignores the steady thumping of their heartbeats mingling with the other sounds. Any possible ideas of other lives get lost in the jumble of loss and violence. 

“It sounds like a pleasant life.” Erik offers quietly as the silence stretches thin. 

Logan waits until a beat of laughter slips beneath one of the doors, clenching his sticky fists. The hood of the car is crowded with all three of them and he feels it dipping towards the ground. Charles watches him, pupils blown wide and skin riddled with goosebumps. 

“I have another life planned now.” Logan feels his excited shudder. “I wish to meet the man behind the curtain then I wish to open up a school for mutants.” 

“No,” Erik says, squeezing his eyes shut, “You don’t want to meet the man behind the curtain.” 

No one says a word whenever the peach slams against the wall of the motel.

-

Logan watches his skin become dusty and counts the beginnings of freckles dotting his arms and cheeks. The gleam in his eyes is fierce and optimistic with the promise of something better to come. Charles begins carrying around a pack of cigarettes, though he keeps up a steady stream of complaints about the inability to find cigars. 

“Would you like one?” Charles offers, fierceness bleeding into warmth. Logan dips forward and allows him to put it between his lips. “I looked for cigars.” 

The apology is waved off with the smell of cigarette smoke and lighter slipping back into jeans. 

“Irene keeps showing visions of the man behind the curtain, but my final actions are undetermined. It has to happen eventually though.” 

“Do you have any plans?” Logan asks, “Buying drinks won’t win you favors this time.” 

“I actually have a joke prepared for him, though the punchline isn’t worked out yet. I’ll share it with you and Erik tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are always welcomed! 
> 
> Originally I meant to include: every mutant rescue, meeting Moira, eventual confrontation with Trask and background relationships. 
> 
> I tried finding a place for the mutant rescues, but it was messing with the flow of the story. 
> 
> If inspiration ever strikes I may write those scenes, or the time between Erik and Logan in the cell.


End file.
